I'm Typing This on My New Laptop

I don't have all the bugs worked out, but enough so that I can use it instead of the old frustrating one.  The biggest triumph today was getting the printer driver downloaded and then making the laptop talk to the printer.  I had to introduce them three times before they were on speaking terms.  A pair of prima donnas if you ask me.

This morning after my session with T the trainer I stopped at the store and got the

ingredients to make the Pumpkin Bread Pudding I signed up to take to Saturday's Knit-Away Day.  The food is supposed to be brunch food and this looks brunch-y to me.  I cobbled together two different recipes, adding a cup of dried raisins to the custard.  I suspect that they're kind of all in the middle but that's okay it'll be tasty anyway.  Especially once I whip up the Toffee Rum Sauce to drizzle over it.  Warm Toffee Rum Sauce.  Mmm.  I even went to Goodwill and found a white stoneware pitcher to serve the sauce from because I don't have one the correct size.  Well, I do now and for the princely sum of $3.99.  Gotta love Goodwill.

After the cleaning lady left (I love her!), I went downstairs and whipped up a bento bag which is a fabric origami construction that's great for a project bag.  It took maybe an hour to make and that's including ironing the fabric first.  After that I went to the dollar store for a little plastic basket for inside it and then to Michaels for a few notions to tuck inside.  It'll be a fun exchange gift on Saturday.





From the dollar store I stopped at the neighborhood Farmer's Market for a bunch of carrots and a purple cauliflower.  I only meant to get the carrots but couldn't resist the color of the cauli.  




The felted purses weren't dry in time to get donated tonight so I had a chance to take one's photo. (the other one's still in the dryer) I'll get in touch with JLF next week to see if we can't meet up so I can hand them over.  They turned out pretty cute.  A little hairy, but cute.


 

At tonight's Knitting Guild meeting I got nominated to be Vice President.  DS remarked a few months ago that he thought doing something for someone else would help me be less depressed so I thought I'd start slow.  Maybe I'll see about volunteering to help kiddos read or something one of these days.  At the meeting I cast on and almost finished the cuff of OJ's mitten #2.  It's easy to make progress when you're only knitting on 34 stitches.

17 October--Barbara Malcolm, Horizon. 

August

            “Thank goodness it’s cool.  I’d hate to be doing this in that heat and humidity we had last week,” Abel said as he carried another pair of framed watercolors to his truck.

            “It’s cool because the sun hasn’t come up.  We’ll fry later, I’m afraid,” I said, trailing behind him with a box of matted but unframed paintings.  “Keep moving.  I want to be there by six o’clock so we can get set up before the sun’s too high.”  I set the carton on the tailgate of the truck, pushed it next to the others, and turned back to haul more things.  “We should have gone up yesterday.  I hate to rush.”

            He came out of the house with another armload of paintings and heard me.  “There weren’t any rooms nearby and the ones further away cost the earth, remember?  It’s going to be fine.  We’ll have plenty of time to set up and relax before the customers come.”  He stopped walking.  “Gail, you have to stop borrowing trouble.  You’re going to worry yourself right into the ground.”  He gently laid the paintings in a big box lined with mover’s blankets he’d built in the bed of his pickup to keep the framed art from getting damaged.  “There.  That’s the last of them.”  He straightened up, pressed his hands into his lower back, and stretched.  “Now we just need to grab the cooler and get rolling.”

            “You filled it with water and ice?”

            “Yes, I did, Miss Worry-wart.  You have your easel, board, and paints?”

            I went back to the truck to check.  “Yep.  All I need is the bag with my hat and sunscreen and I’m ready.”  I turned and started back to the house.  “I think.”

            He fell into step beside me and hugged me to his side.  “You’ll be fine.  I’ll be there to fetch and carry and, besides, by noon or one o’clock at the latest, I’m sure you’ll be sold out and we can come home.”

            “Dreamer,” I said, bumping his hip with mine.  “We’ll probably end up hauling most of this stuff home and that’ll be the end of my art career.”

            He held the door to the porch open for me.  “Oh, right.  After Gil’s sold how many of your paintings in how many months?”

            “He’s sold about a dozen.”

            “That’s all?  In how long?”

            “Three months.  Okay, you’re right.  My paintings are doing well.  I’ll scale back my worrying.”

            He walked out of the room for one last pit stop saying, “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

            It was nice driving up to Door County watching the sun rise.  We got to the Jacksonport Town Park just after six.  There were a few artists and crafters already setting up but most of the people there were huddled around an industrial sized coffeepot near the registration table.  Abel parked the truck and we walked over to check in and find out where our booth was.

            The woman at the table was trying to do ten things at once, talking to volunteers, directing the placement of signs along the road, shuffling papers, and greeting artists.  “Gail Logan?  Hmm, let’s see.”  I was amazed she could find anything in the mess on the table, but she dipped into the middle of a stack and came out with my entry.  “Here we are.  You’re in Booth 37, Gail.”

           “Thirty-seven?  That’s my lucky number,” I said, thinking of the craft fair I did with Samara the winter before last.

           She gave me a frazzled smile and stood up to point at the rows of white tents set up all over the park.  “You’re right at the end of the second row.  Since you’ve been so kind as to agree to demonstrate your art, you’ve got a double tent.”  She looked at Abel.  “You can pull over by the tent to unload.  Then please park your vehicle in that big field across the highway.  We’d appreciate it if you’d park at the far end so the paying customers can have the nearer spots.”  By then, three people were standing at her elbow and there must have been a dozen artists waiting to register.

            Abel drove the truck to the booth while I walked over, trying to settle my nerves with a little exercise thinking, why I ever agreed to do an art fair, much less sit in public and paint, I’ll never know.

Tomorrow LC and I are having a day so I really need to wrap this up and hit the hay.  Later, dudes and dudettes!
--Barbara